I feel like dying again.

I feel like the nation’s lights are starting to dim.

I feel the passion of the night fading with the wind.

On the inside there is darkness and dampened sound.

 

I sometimes surprise myself by what I’d do for love.

I risk it all, I build up the gall, to stand tall against

those who wish the worst for me. I gamble my life

with death in a game, I am rigged to lose. I meet men

online, I get in strangers’ cars, I commit to everything

my mother told me not to do.

 

I feel like dying again.

This time I’ll lead the witch hunt and I’ll build my cross

according to plan. I’ll polish the wood and place it deep

in the sand. The foundation will be strong. Allow me to die

on display and afterward you will have a new space to pray.

 

Let this be my doomsday, the last day in June. Let this be

the time period, education officials omit in their next curriculum.

Starve the children and make them work – younger, faster, harder.

Shelter them from words and stories of what’s already been done.

Give them your written legislature, a descendent of the scripture.

The one that swore to protect, the one you signed with a gun.

 

I feel like dying again.

I am the one you want. I am the problem in your eyes.

I am the snowflake homosexual who is turning everyone’s gaze.

I stand with every definition of trans. I spend my money on drag

queens who play tricks on kids with their feminine disguise.

 

I will die over and over until your point is made.

I will be standing on the edge of the gravel pit

while you finish protesting the Parade. You must

share your evidence of a god that loves all,

be sure to hide the evidence that is conditional.

I don’t mind waiting for your firing squad,

the same one you used in 1942.

 

I feel like dying again.

Let the white waves dyed red wash me away.

Don’t remember me, don’t miss my personality.

Move on to the next disgraceful distraction

and finish the job of fatality, one by one.